


Fire

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humour, You shoud always have enough water to extinguish a burning Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“John. I think I’m on fire.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

„John.“

_It was all a dream, just a dream. Everything was alright._

„John. Wake up.“

_He did only imagine all this._

„JOHN!“

_Damn._

With an annoyed sigh John Watson opened his eyes and stopped short. It was blackest night outside – with a fast glance to his alarm clock he recognized that it was just shortly after three a.m. – but despite of that, it was bright in the room.

“Sherlock, turn the lights out. I want to sleep.” He closed his eyes again and turned around so his back faced his flatmate, who seemed to be wide awake.

“John. I think I’m on fire.”

 

Suddenly the former army doctor was as vivid as if somebody had poured ice water over his head and jumped out of the bed. How he now saw Sherlock hadn’t turned on the light; he was shining in cheerful colours while he was flickering around completely placid.

“Sherlock” John screamed while his voice skipped some octaves and he looked around the room looking for help. The only thing that came to his mind was a half-emptied glass of water on his bedside table. He grasped it immediately and poured its content over Sherlock, to be exact only in his face. The view of the Consulting Detective wasn’t utterly amused as he pushed out the wet curls out of his forehead.

John, still roused like a chicken, fluttered around Sherlock – whose right sleeve was still on fire – with rowing hands and stammering like a mad man. Apparently Sherlock had tried to produce an inflammable coating for fabric. Obviously he had been successful; still John broke out in blank panic. That their flat had both a kitchen and a bathroom at their disposal – and so there was quite enough water to extinguish the flames – but none of them thought of that.

With great presence of mind John remembered the lesson of the fire brigade at his old school. _Smother the flames._ Yes, this sounded useful. Without hesitating one more moment he pushed Sherlock on his bed and covered him with his blanket before throbbing on the fabric to suffocate the flames.

 

In this moment there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson peeked in.

“Hey, you two. I heard some noise and just wanted to see if you boys are fine, as…” She stopped in the middle of the sentence as the saw the situation in its full glory. There was John, who crouched on a shapeless bundle and had his hand lifted for another hit, and Sherlock, who _was_ the shapeless bundle. Mrs. Hudson wasn’t sure whether the look on his face was pure excitement or something else, too.

“It’s not what you think” John prattled and just made everything worse. Mrs. Hudson lifted her hands in defense.

“I’m going to bed now. Please warn me next time so I can put in my earplugs.” With a last astonished and a schrug of her shoulders she closed the door again.

 

“I think you can go off me now” Sherlock mumbled into the pillows.

John hurried to get off the bed and smoothed out his striped pajamas before he watched Sherlock getting out the hurly-burly of blankets with rather bumpy movements and wrapped his dressing gown closer around his body.

“Well, then…Good night.” “Yeah”, John replied a little baffled.

“Good night.”

 

They never talked about this incident again, but Mrs. Hudson always grinned at them knowingly when they passed her together.


End file.
